


your lipstick (stains)

by itachitachi



Series: TW Mating Games '13 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Genderplay, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she pulls away, Jackson knows she's left a smear from the way she eyes his mouth. He licks his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your lipstick (stains)

**Author's Note:**

> This entry placed in the first week of Mating Games on LJ. :) woo!

They have sex. It's good sex.

Good, healthy, normal sex.

He always watches Lydia get dressed afterwards without moving from his spot on the bed. Sometimes he feels like he should be melancholy about how quickly she leaves, like he isn't important to her at all, but it's not like he wouldn't be the same way if they were at her apartment.

They're just not like that. Doesn't mean it doesn't sting, though.

"Jackson, stop pouting," she says, not taking her eyes off the mirror where she's brushing something across her cheeks.

"Whatever," he says, and gets up to make a sandwich.

It's just sex. It's good sex.

She kisses him hard one night, right after she's finished doing herself up. Her lips are bright red, predatory, and she pushes him down on the bed, kissing him into the sheets with a hand fisted in his hair. He's still naked but she makes him hot, uncomfortable.

When she pulls away, Jackson knows she's left a smear from the way she eyes his mouth. He licks his lips.

"Hmm," she says, and opens her bag for her compact and the shade du jour.

She starts reapplying her color right there on top of him. She's straddling him, and she's _right there_. On top of his dick, not even looking at him. Her mouth opens wide, the color a slick, vivid glide over her bottom lip, and he groans.

She presses her lips together, slides them around. "Impatient?" she asks.

"Fuck," he says, and reaches for her waist. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, so he drops his hands—but bares his teeth. He's not a pushover.

Lydia arches an eyebrow and adds another swipe of color before dropping her things back into her bag. She leans down to just look at him, then, appraising. She catches his chin and turns his face gently, this way and that. In an instant he realizes he's well on his way to impossibly hard—would rock up into her, almost does, but her nails bite into his jaw pointedly until he grunts and goes limp again.

Whatever she sees she seems to like it, because she smiles, like a tiny, red-lipped devil. Jackson tries leaning up to kiss her but her grip is firm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks.

"I just—" he says, frustrated, but she pushes him back down.

It's because she's evening fresh, flawless. If he kissed her right now, he'd ruin her.

He still wants to kiss her. A small part of him wants desperately to ruin her.

"Another day," she says.

He licks his lips again once she's left. When he looks in the mirror, his mouth is bright red, like a wound.

Another day comes and she pushes him straight onto the floor, gets on top of him as soon as she's slid out of her shoes. There's nothing under her skirt but skin, so he slips his fingers there and touches, just as she wants him to.

He knows just from looking at her face that she can tell. When she smiles it's slow, almost hungry, like he's handed her something magnificent.

"The red was a good look for you, but I want to try something else," Lydia says, and pulls out a little pot in a different color. "Here."

This one she has to put on with her fingertips, rubbing lazily along his lips. He presses his thumb inside her as she slicks it on him, but she doesn't twitch once.

Here, as ever, she's in total control. He closes his eyes as she coaxes his lips apart.

"That's better," she says when she's finished with him. "This color looks great on you." She smears the leftover under his eyes like war paint.

"Fuck you," he says.

"Don't mind if I do," she says. She drops the pot back into her purse and pulls out a condom, and he thinks, _god_.

It is absolutely not their usual healthy, normal sex. He's frantic and she's worse, holding down his shoulders and slamming herself onto his cock until he's gasping. She seems to change her mind then, kissing him furiously, as messy as she can get it. He rolls her over and _fucks_ her, tongue still in her mouth, and when he pulls away he sees the color she's put on him is dark and rich, like a bruise.

He _feels_ bruised. She's marked him down somewhere deep.

"Don't stop," she orders, clinging to him, and he doesn't.

He won't.


End file.
